#zombiescribbles

[zombiezzzz11]

first time drawing G1 Starscream :3 drawn on magma with a mousepad

[shinetroll]

Hey, if you're interested... please follow my other blogs!

@cutiesinflowers reblogs people wearing flower crowns. always. no exceptions. @blogunderthebridge is my otherkin/fae blog, mostly reblogs nature photography but also sometimes recipes, art, and lore. @zombiewithatypewriter hasn't been updated in a while, but it's where I post my short stories and poems about zombies and ask for writing prompt submissions so I can make more. @inconvenience-stores chronicles the surreal experience that is my job at the local 24-hour convenience store.

[zombiewithatypewriter]

untitled scribble

Close your eyes. You are standing in a field. The air is cool and dry, and the sky above is an endless void. Your bare toes dig into the soft earth below you as your lungs expand and take it all in. Now open them. A single bolt of light - a shooting star, you think - streaks across the horizon and vanishes. You didn't even have enough time to make a wish. You don't even know what you would have wished for. Everything is different now. Nobody told you it would be like this. Everyone always expected a crash and a bang, a flash of blinding whiteness, a long tunnel with the soft glow of promise and golden doors to the end. Who would have guessed your afterlife would land you here, naked in a cornfield and blind as a mole? The air smells strange now, like copper and water and electrical currents running through your bare body. Sounds are muffled, and everything appears fuzzy, black and white, like the old shows your grandma used to let you watch. Yet somehow, with your sniffer you can sense the world with absolute clarity. You start to walk. Your steps are unsure at first. Where are you going? What will you do once you get there? You don't know yet, but you'll find out soon enough, driven forward by an endless, aching void within you.

[zombiewithatypewriter]

story concept: zombie daycare

People become different types of zombies depending on how they died. A government agency assigns qualified individuals to care for certain zombies. more on this later as the story develops

[zombiewithatypewriter]

a short excerpt from my novel-in-progress

When Monday arrives, Alex wakes up with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.  Today she has to go back to work and pretend everything she sees there is normal.  She may or may not come into contact with Mr. Tryst today, but she’s certain that she will at some point in the week.  She will definitely be forced to clean up dead zombies, and that is the part she finds hardest.  Now that she’s met Mic she is more sure than ever that what is being done at the school is wrong, but if she is to avoid losing her job -- or worse, imprisonment -- then she must at least act like she supports the system.  If she protests, people will suspect something, and if people start to get suspicious, they will eventually find Mic and kill him.  Alex has already made up her mind that that can’t happen. “Bye,” she tells her zombie friend as she walks past him on her way to the door.  “I’m going to work.”  She awkwardly pats him on the head as he sits up sleepily from the couch.  “Try not to destroy anything or get yourself killed while I’m gone.  And stay in the apartment.  Seeya later.” Mic waves feebly as his friend exits the room.  Yes, he’s begun to think of Alex as a friend now, at least, as close to a “friend” as his primitive zombie mind can comprehend.  She makes him feel safe, so he likes her.  Maybe this is why she doesn’t seem like food to him.  Food can’t be a friend; food is not alive.  Alex is definitely alive. He’s gotten a bit more used to being in the apartment alone.  Alex has to leave for work sometimes, to go to the store sometimes, to talk to other humans sometimes.  She seems to trust him now, because she doesn’t lock him in the bathroom anymore, and she always gives him the same instructions before leaving him alone: don’t destroy anything, and don’t die.  He doesn’t really know what that means, but he can tell that the things she describes are bad things and is glad that she trusts him not to do the bad things.  He stands up and stretches his legs. ==================================== On the way to work, Alex thinks about the zombies in the pens and compares them to Mic.  Is he actually different, or is it possible they're all like him?  She wonders if they would also eat fruit… and how the school board would react to such a suggestion.  She shakes her head. “No,” she reminds herself.  “I can't do anything for the others.  At least not right now.  I just have to go to work and fit in…”  The image of Mic’s face as he tasted oranges for the first time flashes in her mind. She stops by a convenience store before work and purchases a bag of cuties, then continues on, unsure of what the day will bring.

[zombiewithatypewriter]

more on that skeleton story...

Now imagine, as the kid grows older, they start to wonder about what's outside of the skeleton village, but all the skeletons are super protective of them because, since they're alive, they can actually get hurt. Their soft flesh-body is fragile and must be protected. So the kid has skeleton bodyguard/babysitters with them at all times. One day they wander far enough into the woods that they find signs of life from another settlement. The kid is curious about who lives there, so they follow the clues to find it. The two skeletons accompanying them are nervous and try to convince them to go back home, but they are a stubborn teenager at this point and won't do it. The skeletons reluctantly follow until they eventually stray close enough to another village that they are seen by a group of humans out hunting or gathering herbs/wood/whatever. These humans panic because holy fucking shit, walking skeletons. The skeletons panic because holy fucking shit, these humans are way weird, like way more modern than what the skeletons are used to in their old-timey village from decades ago. The kid panics because holy fucking shit, other people like me exist, and also I am not the center of attention right now, what the fuck? (This kid has apparently never not been the center of attention in their whole life. These skeletons have all dedicated their entire existence to the safety and comfort of this child and given them anything they'd ever want or need. They're totally spoiled.) Once the humans realize the skeletons are only here to protect this weird, old-fashioned, kind-of-bratty teenager with the long hair and overly-confident attitude, they're suddenly fascinated and bring them to meet the sheriff and other important people in the town. Everyone wants to know what this kid will do now, since they've found their own kind and a place they "really belong." The skeletons are worried... (to be continued)

[zombiewithatypewriter]

zombie scribble #5: Zombies Are Everywhere

Be kind to them. They are everywhere.

In the morning they take your money and hand over your coffee, staring blankly over your shoulder as you take the first hot sip.

They flip the burgers and drown the fries in oil, ignoring the burns on their skin and the scent of melting flesh. You always thought the food was bad, but you go there anyway. Some days it’s all you can do.

They scan the labels and shuffle the racks, making sure everything’s in order. You pay for your products and step out onto the street. Your car smells of gasoline, and it’s time for a tune-up. All the mechanics in town hire them as workers. Loyal and strong, and they’ll take whatever pay they can get without complaint.

At work, you slide your time card and make your way to the shelves where you take a turn stocking and scanning. Customers bug you, and you do your best to help. A man stumbles in, shuffling and mumbling something only he can hear. You attempt to communicate with him but to no avail.

Communication is difficult these days. You try to remember how it used to be, when everyone could just talk to each other and make friends. Now it’s mostly just awkward mumbling and staring at the walls or the floor. Nobody has friends anymore. At least, friendship isn’t what it used to be.

There are those rare occasions, though, in which two sets of starry, dead eyes will meet, and the brains behind them will light up with understanding. Something clicks, and a bond is formed. To the rest of the world, they’re still just a couple of brainless meatbags, but to each other, they will be people.

So be kind to them, for they are everywhere; and somewhere out among the hoarde is the one who may be the one for you.